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On Sorrow Author(s): Marianne Boruch Source: The Iowa Review, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Spring - Summer, 1993), p. 97 Published by: University of Iowa Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20153411 . Accessed: 12/06/2014 14:37 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. . University of Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Iowa Review. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 195.34.79.20 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 14:37:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

On Sorrow

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Page 1: On Sorrow

On SorrowAuthor(s): Marianne BoruchSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Spring - Summer, 1993), p. 97Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20153411 .

Accessed: 12/06/2014 14:37

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

.

University of Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Iowa Review.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 195.34.79.20 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 14:37:08 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

Page 2: On Sorrow

On Sorrow

The way certain people run through rain at rest stops, the quiet ones

or the quick shrieking ones,

is the way I want

to think about sadness: brave flash

and the weedy grass too shiny in such light,

say, the middle of September which is always at a slant, the kids

school-dogged, hitting

every puddle, that slow motion rush

from the car.

But it's the stranded ones there,

old guys with caps, a woman

with her hood up?I look at them

and hardly think at all.

They stand whistling for their genius dogs, dogs who half-fly through the dog walk zone. Two notes

to that whistling, or three.

Each has a rhythm I can't quite get.

They hunch down

into their nylon jackets, shoulders

already dark with rain.

I don't know

what it is?just what you do

if you have a dog, like it's raining all day, regardless.

Half the time, I sit a few minutes

in my car before

I do anything. One of them is always trying to light a cigarette in the rain. Match after soggy match

flung down. This is hope.

97

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